


It's Wrong to Wish on Space Hardware

by malyce



Category: Doctor Who (2005), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, first kisses challenge fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malyce/pseuds/malyce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the "first kisses" challenge at livejournal.  My prompt was Rogue/Tenth Doctor, because I am just that predictable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Wrong to Wish on Space Hardware

When you think about your childhood, you see maps.  Maps, with bold, black lines to separate states and countries spread across your bed.  Each territory was a different color; when you were little, you liked Australia the most because it was bright pink.  There was a yellow star over Sydney, and the oceans were a uniform, peaceful light blue.  
  
When you got older, you started collecting different kinds of maps.  Most girls your age had magazine cutouts of movie stars tacked to their bedroom walls.  Instead, you had different representations of the world.  Some were satellite photos, others were not drawn exactly to scale, but that didn't matter.  You liked the ones that were white at the polar ice caps, and painted yellow along the edges of the coastlines.  You had plastic relief maps that you could run your fingers over, and feel the differences in texture between the Himalayas and the Dead Sea.  Sometimes, you would stare at the different continents, and daydream that you were taking trips to these faraway places.  
  
Your favorite maps were the kind that didn't show where the political boundaries began and ended.  By age twelve, you were old enough to realize that those lines didn't really separate people from one another anyway.    
  
Years later, you are a billion light years away from school, from Bobby, from Logan, and all the people who know what's best for you.  You are floating through the infinity of space and time in a blue box that isn't a blue box, and with a man who isn't a man.  So far, it's the least confusing thing that has happened to you today.  
  
The man asks you to call him The Doctor.  " _Just_ 'the Doctor.'"  
  
It seems like an odd title for an alien life form, but you can understand the need to adopt a new name when the old one doesn't fit who you are anymore.  So you tell him to call you Rogue.  Just Rogue, no last name, no first name, no past, no future.  You're trying to go back to being Marie, but that isn't going to happen anytime soon.  His accent sounds English, but you can sense that there's something other than human about him.  Your first thought is that he's a mutant on the run from Stryker or Magneto or both.  
  
But you can sense that he's not a mutant.  He's not even human.  Humans don't radiate energy the way he does; you have to touch them to see their memories and absorb their essence.  It makes you feel a little queasy and a slightly giddy to be around him.  Giddy and light-headed enough that you agree to take a trip to an alternate dimension with him.  
  
There are universes connected to this one, he explained, but they don't touch.  At least, they shouldn't.  They are held together by thin, thread-like connections, like cracks in an ice cube or a spiderweb.  He makes it sound like these connections are going to break down at any moment; you wonder if something so delicate can really hold the universe together.  
  
He asked you to come with him, and talked at about a thousand miles an hour.  He told you that you were special, no time to explain, but you had a gift, and that if you weren't too busy today, he could _really_ use your help to absorb the energy from the center of the universe and prevent the destruction of several planets.  
  
So he opened the door to the mysterious blue call box, bouncing from one control to another like a hyperactive puppy.    
  
"You can sit anywhere you want," he said, "but not there- oh, and don't touch _that,_ and oh, don't even look at that, let me get this thing stable before we do anything else!"  In a flurry of activity, he manages to fix whatever is wrong with the transport, and you are floating through space.  
  
He lets you turn off the gravity controls inside the engine room, and the two of you float around each other, giggling with the weightlessness.   
  
"So," you say, catching your breath, "What exactly is it you need me to do?"  
  
“Well," he explains, "You're like a black hole.  You're what we get when the universe is divided by zero.”   
  
You groan inwardly.  Thanks a lot, _sugah_ , you drawl, in a perfect parody of your mother's southern dialect. But you've already had plenty of people calling you self-absorbed today.  
  
“No, that's not what I meant,” he says hastily, “I mean that you're like a force of nature. Really, it's an incredible gift. And today, we're going to use it to save the universe.”  
 _  
Gifted._ That was the word Professor Xavier used, and you're a little sick of hearing it.   
  
Everyone feels sorry for you. _Oh, poor Rogue. She has to wear those scarves and opera gloves everywhere to keep from accidentally draining the life out of someone._ If only they knew that you wear that armor for your protection as well. Having other people's secrets kicking around in your brain gets old after a while.   
  
They pity you for not being able to touch or be touched. Nobody is rude enough to say it, of course, but it's pretty much assumed that they think you're going to die alone and unloved. Poor Bobby must be a saint to date a girl who can't put out. It takes a lot of willpower not to snap that you do have other things to do, thanks ever so much for your concern.  
  
But, still...  
  
Okay, _fine_ , so the thought has crossed your mind.  
  
And that's why you're so angry right now. Everybody pities poor, lonely, neglected Rogue, but do they cheer with her when there's a cure for her mutation? Of course not. Suddenly, you're a traitor to all mutant kind because your own happiness means more to you than their politics.  
  
The Doctor would probably call it a paradox. You decide that you prefer the less eloquent term, “bullshit."

* * *

  
He lets you open the door to peek out into infinity.  And it dawns on you just how alone you all really are.  All the stars, the ones that looked so close together when you gazed up at them, are billions of light years apart.    
  
The Doctor lets a strand of your hair run through this fingertips.  It flies around your face, making you feel like you're underwater.    
  
He kisses you.  It is a quick, but firm kiss on the lips, as though he'd like to linger there for a few more minutes.  He knew what you were, and he took the chance of kissing you, even when he didn't know how it would affect him.  He is either brave or suicidal; maybe a little bit of both.  
  
You rest your chin on the shoulder of his coat, careful not to touch his face, and watch stars explode while others are born.  
  


* * *

  
“Wait here for me,” he says, “I'll come back, I promise.” You can remember the last time you heard that line, and you aren't going to let those be his last words. You catch the fabric of his jacket between your fingertips, careful to avoid contact with his alien skin.  
  
“I don't wait for people anymore,” you tell him. He returns your grin, and you can tell he realizes that it's a challenge.  
  
“I'll have to hurry, then.” he says. He kisses you on the top of the head, right where the white streaks of your hair meet your scalp. When he leaves, your skin is still warm from the contact.  
  


* * *

  
The summer is nearly over, but New York has been hit by an unexpected heatwave. Bobby, the “iceman,” is suddenly everybody's best friend.  You spend most of your nights in the observatory, dressed in shorts and a tank top and flip flops.  After years of draping yourself in fabric, it almost feels like you aren't dressed at all.  You keep forgetting that your skin won't kill anyone, that the vaccine has wrestled your DNA to the ground.    
  
Sadly, the effect of the vaccine is only temporary.  You don't know what will happen after it wears off.  The doctors assure you that they are working on a long-term solution for mutants who want to deactivate their powers.  After multiple lectures from your teachers, you've finally learned to stop using the word "cured" around the mansion.  
  
After his evening class is over, Bobby finds you on the balcony, staring through a telescope.  You aren't sure what to say when Bobby asks what prompted your sudden interest in star-gazing.  You tell him you've decided that you're going to major in astronomy next year, and that you're interested in the way everything in the universe is connected.  
  
“It's like a crack in an ice cube or a spider web,” you say.  
  
“Huh?”   
  
“What I mean,” you say, realizing that you're never going to be able to explain this the way it should be explained, “is that everything is connected. Out there, here on Earth- it's part of the same universe, even if it seems like everything's drifting further apart.”  
  
He wraps his arms around your waist, knowing that the summer will pass and so will the vaccine's effects.  Soon, you and Bobby will probably split apart from each other, like stars in a universe that seems to be getting bigger every day.  You're planning to go to the university next year to study astronomy, and he will probably stay at the mansion.  
  
But for the moment, you've told yourself that a lie by omission isn't _technically_ a lie, and that you're going to hang on to the precious _here_ and _now_ with both hands.  Stars die quickly and years end, but you know just how big the universe is now, and how fragile your connections to it really are. 


End file.
